Kindling
by OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: This whole thing should have never happened. Writing a fic was a mistake. While I take a pause to get my life relatively in order, have a mini-fic intermission to the series
1. Chapter 1

If anyone ever had a right to anger, it was him.

He stared at the match between his fingertips, watching the fire eat up the sliver of wood hungrily. The flame singed his fingertips, getting too close. Using his other hand, he pinched it out quickly before lighting another.

He was surrounded by morons, all placating smiles, and "I'm so sorry"s, and disapproving glances. He was positively drowning in idiocy, his life absolutely overwhelmed by a monotony of uselessness. He wondered if they knew that they couldn't possibly understand, or if they really were vain enough to believe they could put themselves into his shoes. He pinched the match out slowly, letting it burn his fingers. A throbbing pain pulsed under the skin. He didn't care.

It always surprised people how easy it was, how pinching matches was a feat on par with lighting them. He liked the crisp hiss as the powder caught, the organic breathing nature of the flame, the way it stung when you got too close. He liked the fact that it scared people. He threw the spent matchstick away, flicking it towards the girl sitting in front of him. He was disappointed when she didn't respond, didn't notice. He had been hoping for a fight; just sitting quietly was dreadfully boring.

Of course, playing with matches had gotten him here in the first place. It was unsurprising, really. It would be more shocking if he ever made it through a week without being disciplined, but what were they going to do? Tell his parents? A pretty girl passed by the door and waved to the girl sitting in front of him. She waved back. He hated her.

She spent about half as much time as he did here, although never for the same things. Her pretty friend seldom made appearances.

She was a stupid girl. A stupid girl with a stupid bob and stupid clothes that didn't fit her quite right. He hated her; hated her stumpy legs, hated the way she would bite the end of her pencil when she was thinking, hated the way she thought she knew everything. He _really_ hated her younger brother; that snooping know-it-all who just _had_ to have the last word on every matter, no matter the sniveling tone it was delivered in. He would always come at the end of the day to walk her out in some nerdy display of familial affection. That idiot had some sort of weird vendetta against him, he just knew it. Probably because he hated his older sister so much, as if it was _his_ fault that she was so undeniably heinous.

He stared at the wall, concocting some truly hateful insults he would have to remember for later. He scribbled them out in his notebook with his own gnawed-on pencil before perusing some of his earlier notes, congratulating himself on his unending cleverness. He had a full arsenal of things guaranteed to make her cry, and one of these days he was going to do it.

He drummed his pencil against the desk, trying to think of more reasons to hate her.

Her stupid parents; that was a good one.

Her parents were easily and single-handedly the worst people he had ever had the displeasure of acknowledging, with their tacky "family spirit" smiles, acting as if they had no greater pleasure than inflicting three of the worst brats ever created upon this sorrowful earth. He thought back to the girl, to her tasteless clothes and shapeless form and found a smug comfort in how _easy_ it was to hate her.

Finally, the clock struck the quarter hour. He stood up quickly, shoving his things into a messy pile before making his quick exit, pausing only to shove her brother as he walked out, making sure he tripped embarrassingly in front of the pretty girl. He smirked to himself, pleased with his work for the day.

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AN-

What? This isn't where we left off! How completely and utterly confusing

Cheers


	2. Chapter 2

He sat alone. That wasn't unusual. He always sat alone. He preferred to be alone, actually. This made it all the more unbearable when the girl with the ugly bob sat down in the seat beside him. He stared at her, doing his best impression of the business end of a harpoon gun. She didn't seem impressed, even smirking a bit, amused. He managed to dig up even more hatred for her, a feat he previously thought impossible.

"What the hell do you want?" He finally had to resort to talking, although he didn't like it.

"You gave my brother a black eye."

He pointed to his own shiner somewhat incredulously, "Believe me, I would do it again, and plan to as soon as possible." The idiot boy had cracked his nose as well. The pain still throbbed distractingly, pulsing unpleasantly.

"No you won't."

He was taken aback by the cool nonchalance of her tone, the matter-of-fact way in which she spoke.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Alright, kid, calm down-"

"I'm not a kid." He hated the inherent immaturity in his words.

She raised an eyebrow incredulously, "You kind of are, though."

"I'm sixteen, asshole." Or at least, he would be sixteen in a month or so. That didn't matter though. She smirked again, an infuriating expression that rattled the anger he held clenched between his teeth.

"My mistake. You're a regular adult, aren't you?" She looked away, as if bored with the conversation already. He grit his jaw. "At any rate, you're going to leave my brother alone."

"And why should I?"

"Because I asked you to."

She turned to look at him again, and he was startled to notice just how brown her eyes were. He fidgeted, still mad his space had been infringed upon. Trying not to act frazzled, he looked away coyly, pulling the packet of matches from his pocket. With a natural ease, he pulled one out, striking it on the box, holding the flame close enough to his face that he could feel the small heat radiate warningly.

"You're brother's an asshole."

"Well, duh." She leaned back, sighing, "Do you want to ditch and go get a root beer float?"

"Yeah, sure," he hated the fact that he didn't even take a second to think about it.


	3. Chapter 3

"What type of coffee do you like?" He stared at the note in his hands, confused. Her handwriting didn't look like a girl's handwriting. It was all compressed, somewhat scratchy. Taking his pencil, he scribbled out "I don't" on the bottom before folding the note and sliding it back towards her. Of course they had gotten in trouble for skipping detention last time; he hadn't been surprised. It had been worth it though.

She was so haughty, always smirking as if she knew some big secret that she couldn't let you in on. He hated that, hated that curl of her lip, so innocuous and aggravating. She wasn't as stupid as he first thought, though-he had to give her that. She had proved that often enough. She was quick, able to pickpocket with a skill he had never seen before. He hadn't believed her when she had told him, but then she handed him his own watch at the end of the night and he had to give her credit. Her hands were softer than they ought to be. He thought about them a lot. Almost as often as he thought about her smirk. That stupid smirk.

She had asked him why he was always so angry. He had calmly explained to her that he wasn't, and that she ought to mind her own goddamn business. She had stirred her root beer float, nodded okay, and then asked why he was "so mad, then."

She ignored his colorful reply and told him that she'd never seen him not trying to pick a fight, and that he was, in fact, "trying to pick one now." That was a stupid thing to say and he had told her so. She asked if he enjoyed anger, or if he was actually as angry as he seemed.

"Well of course" he had thought, "I have every right to be!" But she had just stared at him with that dumb expression on her face, and he wasn't able to think of an answer. She wasn't teasing him, or at least he didn't think she was. What ground would she have to tease him, anyway? He'd rather take his life any day; it was infinitely better not having any family at all than it would be to have hers.

His stony silence broke her after a while. She'd sighed, leaning back, "So tell me, is there anything you do like?"

He'd scoffed, "Of course there's things that I like."

"Like what?"

He had to stop and think about that one. On the face of it, it shouldn't have been a hard question, but it was a while before he answered.

She'd raised her eyebrow at his response, "Theater? Really?"

He'd shrugged, "Why not?"

"It's just…" she hesitated. He knew what she was thinking.

"It wasn't the theater that killed them. The show didn't get the best reviews, but it wasn't that bad." For once she didn't have anything to say, and they had just sat in silence until he found the courage to ask her what she liked.

"Books," she had said. How unoriginal.

The next day a hot coffee was on his desk when he came in.


	4. Chapter 4

"Perfectly dreadful." Those were the exact words she had used to describe the film, and it had lived up to expectations. He wouldn't have gone if she hadn't already had tickets. He'd asked her why she had bought two, and all she'd said was that she didn't buy them. That'd made him hate her a little bit less. Just a little, though.

And so now they sat in the dark, watching a movie that really only could be described as "perfectly dreadful." They whispered the tackiest of the lines back and forth between themselves, snickering, trying not to be loud enough to draw attention.

He liked her irreverence, liked the way everything was either already fun or made fun in her presence, damn the consequences. And more often than not, there were plenty of consequences. She seemed to view them as inescapable irritations.

She leaned in towards him, pointing out some underpaid actress in the background. Her breath was warm against the side of his face, and her shoulder pressed against his in an effort to get close enough to be heard. He suddenly felt nauseous in a not-altogether-unpleasant way. Her eyes glowed with the reflection of the projection, a genuine smile on her face. It suited her well.

He tied to stifle his enjoyment, tried to rationalize it away. This was probably just some dumb plot to get him to go easy on her stupid brother. Well, if she wanted to bribe him unsuccessfully, that was her own prerogative. He wouldn't fight against free movies. He hovered his hand above the popcorn, not caring at all that she might eventually touch it by accident.

He tried very very hard not to look at her, repeating the things he hated about her in his head like a mantra: her hair, her stupid hair. It was easily the ugliest shade of brown that had ever existed. Her nose was the wrong shape entirely and her eyes were either too large or too small-in either case, they didn't fit her face. He reminded himself of the way she gnawed on her pencils.

Glancing over at him, she placed her hand on his arm. When she smiled, her teeth were a row of perfectly sun-bleached stones set against the glow of the screen.

"I told you, didn't I? Isn't it just the worst thing you've ever seen?"

He looked back at the movie just in time to see the hero finally kiss the heroine, "It's absolutely my new favorite of all time."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm just saying, the world has little to no need for rhetorical analysis. It's not exactly a burgeoning field."

She laughed, shaking her head, "I… have to disagree. But to each their own, I suppose."

"Well of course you disagree, that's what you do best."

"Shut up," she elbowed him in the arm.

They were laying on their backs, staring up at the sky in a painfully cliché way, just like those bad movies that they were so quickly becoming connoisseurs of. It was easy to see the stars from the mountains. He tried to find a reason to hate them. There were too many of them, he decided, and too far away to be useful.

He wasn't used to having friends.

Friend. Singular.

The word ought to make him happy, but his gut just tumbled inside him, horrendously disappointed to be friends with this girl. Her hair spilled out behind her on the grass, her dark eyes perfect replicas of the tiny freckles that dusted her nose.

Friends.

He wondered if the pounding of his heart had any influence on the trajectory of the Earth.

She pointed up, gesturing her index finger in a tight circle, "Alright, now make a constellation of that." He squinted, sizing up the dots for a few seconds.

"It's a matchstick."

She sighed, "Must everything come back to fire for you?"

He didn't reply, dissolved in the past for a moment, "You can't blame me."

She lay still, a calculating silence hanging between them. When she finally did speak, it was quiet, hesitant.

"Do you miss them?" He shrugged, and it was the truth.

"It's hard to grieve what you can't understand, you know? Functionally, very little has changed."

"Yeah." He was grateful that she said nothing more, didn't feel the need to pretend that either of of them knew what else to say. Her hand moved a few inches over, brushing against his.

The stars winked conspiratorially as their fingers touched. He was glad she couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were.


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you ever stop to think that maybe you're the problem?"

"Me? That idiot brother of yours can't mind his own business! He had it coming!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated, "Look, is it really too much to ask a friend to leave my kid brother alone?"

"Okay, first of all, he's not a kid, he's fifteen, so he can make his own mistakes without you interfering. Second, I didn't do anything!"

"You threw a book at his head!"

"I was defending your friend! You're welcome for that, by the way. Have you seen the way he stares at her? It's creepy!"

"Oh come on! Yeah, it's gross that my brother has a crush on my friend, but nothing's going to come of it!"

Her words felt like ice water along his spine, "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged, looking tired, "I don't know! It just wouldn't. It would be weird."

"Because what? Because he's just a kid, oh ye ol' wise-and-mighty? Now that you're a full fledged adult with real life problems you don't have time for silly children?" The sarcasm in his voice was palpable. He didn't know why he was so angry, but the feeling rooted in his chest, intense and painful.

"What? No-what the hell are you even talking about?"

"Admit it-you think you're too old for all this! Frankly, I'm surprised you can even see us lowly folk from up on your high horse."

She shook her head, perplexed, "Where is this coming from?"

"You know what, forget it! Bye." He stormed off, unsurprised yet disappointed.

"Fine! Prove your maturity by throwing a tantrum! That's real cool of you" He ignored her, continuing on his bitter path.

Later that night, he was awoken by a strange tapping sound outside his window. He opened it only find her standing beneath it, a small handful of pebbles still clenched in her fist.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hissed down at her, not wanting to get in trouble.

She smiled, "Something stupid and reckless, if we're quick enough. Come on, I can't do it alone. Unless, of course, you think you're too mature for all that."

"Aren't we supposed to be in a fight?"

"We don't have time to be in a fight! Come on, let's go!"

Unbelievable. She didn't even have nerve enough to apologize. And yet, she was the only friend he had and she had come back.

He shook his head, trying to stifle a smile as he made his way out the window, down the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

He wondered if it was wrong to be so happy. He reminded himself that he had the right, neigh, he had the obligation to be miserable. But he couldn't help feeling just that much lighter when she was around.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the slight flush of her cheek. Oh, that he was a glove upon that hand…

He immediately chided himself for such intense stupidity. He was acting ridiculous, she was just some girl, even if she was a pretty one.

She smiled, "I have to say, I'm impressed. You really are good at laying plans."

He scoffed, unfolding the paper before him, "I'm not an idiot."

She elbowed him, "You can turn anything into an insult, do you know that?"

"I'm a clever man, of course I do."

"Oh yes, positively brilliant."

He looked up from the paper with a smile. She smiled back, and the sheer magnitude of the moment sent his insides spinning. He looked away, feeling guilty. It felt uncouth to be so happy. He cleared his throat, "Anyway, if we stick to the left, we should have a clear shot straight to their rooms." She nodded, watching his finger trace over the lines he had painstakingly etched out in pencil.

"And after?"

"After is easy, don't worry."

"You certainly never seem to."

"I'm a busy man, I don't have time to."

"So tell me, are you actually so vain or it just an act?"

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On whether or not it counts as vanity if it's true." She laughed. He liked that.

"So if I were to say I was the coolest person in the room?"

"Vanity."

"Wow," she drew out the word with a laugh, "okay then."

"It simply isn't true. That's not my fault."

"Smartest in the room-"

"I doubt it."

"Am I at least the prettiest?"

"I feel like just saying that is the definition of vanity, regardless of whether or not it's true."

"But is it?"

"Hard to say. I am a very handsome man, after all. If I left the room, sure."

She elbowed him, hard. He smiled as he rubbed his arm.

"Too bad not all of us can have such rugged good looks."

"Rugged?" He raised his eyebrow. "That seems a bit much."

"Sure, you've got that 'devil may care' attitude. That 'bad boy' vibe. You're one leather jacket away from full father disapproval."

He laughed out loud. She smiled again, "You know, if you found the time to laugh more often, you might just have a shot at being the prettiest person, period."

"That was an incredibly lame thing to say."

"See, this is exactly what I mean! You need to calm down."

"No, I need to get back to planning this incredibly important and amazingly dangerous mission."

"Dangerous?" She cocked her eyebrow.

"Sure, plenty dangerous. If even one thing goes wrong, we could end up…" he deepened his voice dramatically, "in detention."

She smirked, laughing, "I was right, you are bad."

He winked at her playfully, but his insides somersaulted, exuberant.


	8. Chapter 8

"Bea wanted to know what your 'deal' is."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth-that you're a deeply poetic soul with a hidden tenderness and wounded heart."

"Perfect. You also told her that I use my art to heal from my terrible childhood in the coal mines, I presume?"

"I made it a war-torn country, but yes. It seemed more dramatic to me."

"What type of poems do I write?"

"Something Byronic, for sure. Sonnets or something."

"Sonnets?"

"Why not?"

"For starters, I don't know how."

She laughed and he broke his facade of seriousness. He was laying on the bed, his legs crossed and arms behind his head. She sat the other way, propped against the wall, an open book in her lap. She was supposed to be studying geography, but he hadn't seen her turn a single page since they'd sat down.

"I bet you're a natural at poetry."

"Oh sure, I'm an absolute master."

"As always."

"No, listen," he cleared his throat, sitting up and holding his hands out towards her dramatically, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more feisty." She laughed again. He liked making her laugh. Her nose scrunched, the constellations of freckles pinching together. She shoved his knee good-humoredly. He continued, buzzing at the touch, "Sometimes, too hot, you shame the nines, who when standing with you will find themselves dimmed. And as the fairest of the fair will often find, beside you, they will find themselves chagrined."

"You used 'find,' like, eight times in that sentence."

"It's a work in progress, okay?"

"But seriously, are you even capable of speaking without sarcasm?"

"Who knows? The doctors say I could die at the effort alone."

"Tragic. But I thought only the good die young?"

"That's a mistranslation. I have heightened risk of early death due to the fact that I am very good at many different things."

"Like poetry?"

"Like poetry."

She laughed, shoving his arm. He reeled a bit, catching himself on her leg. She sat back again, still smiling. He wondered if she could hear his heart bursting within him.

"Besides, where do you get your right to criticize? I don't hear you spouting any original verses."

"Original? Is that what passes for original now?"

"Original enough. Although, it's okay to admit if you're scared of being compared to my talent; you only have to say that I'm clearly your superior in all things, and I'll drop the matter."

"I'd die first."

He cocked his eyebrow, "You plan on dying young too?"

"You're such an ass. You want a poem? Fine." She cleared her throat, "Roses are red, Violets are blue, I don't know why I talk to you."

"That was the most uninspired thing I have ever heard."

"Okay, okay. Stop distracting me, I need to study."

"You better; evidently being an acclaimed poet is no longer on your list of options."

"At least I have options beyond being a professional smartalec."

He could see her fighting not to smile. He didn't respond, not wanting to push his luck much further, settling for a simple shove.


	9. Chapter 9

"Aren't you worried that drinking so much coffee will stunt your growth?"

He cocked his eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"I mean. You're not exactly the tallest kid here."

"Still not a kid."

"You're not the tallest man either."

"I'm taller than enough of them. And at least I'm not the biggest pain."

"I'm just trying to help you out."

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to take your opinion into account in all future endeavors. Besides, it's your fault, I didn't start until I met you."

"Look, you already insist upon wearing dorky clothes, you've got to at least get the rest of you in order."

He straightened his jacket, offended, "Dorky?"

"Here, let me help," she stood, trying to pull his jacket off his shoulders. He clenched his jaw involuntarily.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine."

"You're very clearly not. Come on, what are friends for?"

"Not this."

"Come on! This is the moment in the movie when you show up in a red dress with your hair down, and everyone realizes that you're not as bad as they thought!"

"I'm… confused and offended."

"Okay, except, we're going for the exact opposite effect. Just-" she reached for the collar of his shirt, causing him to pull back violently. "Calm down, I'm not going to make you indecent," she chided him sharply before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. He could feel how warm her hands were through the fabric, how quickly they moved across the buttons. The thought made him dizzy. "God, how do you even breath with it like that?" She smoothed it out with her hands, and the warmth of her palms seeped through wonderfully. "There. Much better already." She leaned back, admiring her handiwork.

He looked down at himself, "You can't be serious."

"Wait- you're right, here," before he could move away she pulled his shirt up, leaving only a bit still tucked.

He scooted back, "Are you done assaulting me now?"

She look him up and down with pursed lips, "Almost." Reaching out, she ruffled his hair, mussing it. He could feel his face flush at the not-unpleasant, although uninvited, sensation. He ought to resent it, he really should, but his chest was filled with a spreading warmth, and he could map every inch she had touched by the buzzing her fingers left behind on his skin.

"Okay, okay," he swatted her hand away, "am I handsome enough now?"

She fell back upon the chair she had been sitting in, "You're better than you were at any rate."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement of your skills."

"Look, you're already egotistical enough as it is, why not leave well enough alone?"

"The same reason you can't, apparently." He leaned back against the chair, smiling, his arm behind him.

She nudged his knee, "See? You're looking better already."


	10. Chapter 10

"I don't know, I thought it was sweet."

"Of course you do, you're a girl."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Girls always like rubbish things."

"Unlike you, who likes almost nothing at all."

"I like things!"

"Name ONE. Besides theater. Or fire," she added as an addendum.

He looked at her and ground the words he wanted to say between his teeth.

"Bad movies, obviously."

"No, that one was too easy!"

"And considering the fact that I enjoyed it so much, I think it's safe to say that the film was terrible."

"Well yeah, but that doesn't mean every bit of it was so bad."

He stopped walking, facing her with his hands up, "No, listen, every bit of it was awful. Even the so-called 'good parts' are only good by comparison."

She shrugged teasingly, "I don't know, I think you must just have very bad taste."

"You're one to talk. Look at the company that you keep."

"I happen to like the company I keep," she smiled and he tucked the memory away in the back of his mind.

It was dark out, the film having gotten out late, and they walked along the sidewalk together.

"Listen, we could debate this all night-"

"If we're going to do that, we're going to have to stop for a drink first."

He blushed just the tiniest bit, making him glad that she couldn't see him all that well, "Oh, I don't have a fake-"

"I meant a coffee or something, but I can get us something if you want-"

"No, no I'm fine. I don't drink much anyway."

They kept walking.

"See, what you're missing is the intent."

"Go on."

"The scene is supposed to be awkward. It's a declaration of love, it's messy, and scary, and imperfect. There was no perfect moment with perfect music and perfect emotional balance. It was a wreck, and it was real."

"No, it was shitty editing and bad acting."

"Scoff all you want, Mr. Sceptic, but I think it was nice."

He wrinkled his nose, "So you like terrible stuff like that? Proposals on beaches with sunsets and rose petals? I thought you were smarter than that."

It was her turn to scoff now, "Oh yes, anything with any emotional attachment is idiotic and frivolous, isn't it?"

He frowned, looking around, "Are any cafés even open now?"

"Probably not. I figured we could go back to my room. Is that cool with you?"

"Yeah, that's fine. So, you're a sucker for kissing in the rain and diamond rings in champagne glasses?"

"No, I'm a sucker for thinking that we might be able to have nice things without you instantly despising them."

"That you are." He smiled and she smiled too, laughing quietly as she looked down. He wondered if she knew that she was the most beautiful thing in the world, if she knew that those sunset beaches could only ever pale in comparison of her. She slipped her arm through his and he felt his heart stumble. A rising blush colored his face as he panicked, trying to decide what to do.

"So, uh, do you want my coat or something?"

"Um, no, I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know. Judging from your movies, it seems like the thing you're supposed to do when you're walking with a girl, particularly one too stupid to bring her own coat."

"My movies? What makes them mine?"

"The fact that you refuse to admit that they belong in the great catalog of terrible movies."

"Alright, well, cinematic ignorance aside, it's not my fault if you brought a coat only to realize that it's too hot, so don't try to pawn it off on me."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." There was an unsuppressable smile in his voice. Even if he couldn't have her, he would die happy just to walk by her side. Although, even if by some miracle he could, he might just die all the same.

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AN-

Hey guys!

My original plan was to update this daily, but as I'm increasingly finding, academia is kicking my ass this semester. Once again, I'm trying not to leave y'all empty-handed for long stretches of time, so sorry for the breaks in between. Thanks for your patience, keep sending me your thoughts/questions/hate mail, I love every bit of it!

Cheers!


	11. Chapter 11

He wondered if it was wise to have a crush on his best friend. He also wondered if it counted as having a "best friend" if you only had one friend. He thought so. They sat on her bed, a swiped bag of gummy bears between them. Her hair was wet, wrapped up in that snail-towel thing all girls somehow know how to do. She smelled nice.

He held up a green gummy bear, squishing it between his fingers, "Did you know the green ones are strawberry flavored?"

She shook her head, "You're full of shit."

"It's true, look it up!"

"I don't need to. I know that you're just messing with me."

He put his hand over his heart, "You wound me. Have you even known me to be dishonest a day in my life?"

"Oh no, sir, never," she smiled, undoing the towel. She ran her fingers through her still-wet hair before falling upon the bed, "You are a model citizen, an inspiration."

"While you, by comparison, are the lowly thief I debase myself to consort with."

"Me?" She gestured towards herself with false shock, "I would never."

"Think again, Aladdin. You are guilty of having stolen the heart of the nation, and for that you must die a painful death," he threw a gummy bear, hitting her in the face.

"Oh my god, you're such a nerd!" She threw it back at him, laughing. He picked it up and ate it, feeling his heart bubble behind his smile.

"Tell us," he held an imaginary microphone towards her, "how do you manage to be you all the time? Isn't it exhausting?"

She leaned into the pretend mic, smirking, "Oh, it definitely is. You should see my intern, he's an absolute nightmare. Really puts the 'ass' in assistant."

"So the rumors are true? Your assistant does have a great ass?"

"Yes, although it's all fake. They did a lot of borrowing from his personality."

"Is that why everyone says he's such a huge prick?"

"Okay, now I literally have to kill you," she punched him, hard.

"Well that's was very unprofessional of you," he shoved her.

"You aren't supposed to shove a lady, idiot," she sat up, hitting his arm again. Being the top of her combat classes gave her an unfair advantage.

"Alright, let me know if you see one."

She grabbed his arm, causing him to lose his balance, almost smacking faces with her.

He wanted the moment preserved in stain glass. Time slowed, his thrumming heart an unreliable metronome. Her cheeks pinched at the corners of her smile, even her eyes lighting up. He had a strong suspicion that maybe he could be a poet after all. If ever there was something to write about, this was it. Her laugh simmered in his ears, slipping down until it echoed throughout the hollow of his ribs. He wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss her right now. He regrouped, shoving himself up quickly.

She straightened up, running a brush through her hair, "No offense, but you really need to work out more. Your punches feel like little kittens licking my arms."

"They do not! Besides, that's only because the full affect of my attack might literally kill you."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah sure, whatever."

"I am a lethal man."

"Oh? Should I be scared?" Her voice rang with amusement.

"Only if you're allergic to charming and handsome young men."

"Oh I definitely am."

"Really?" He smiled.

She nodded gravely, "Oh absolutely. Deathly so. So please, tell me if you see one."

He threw another gummy bear at her, not even minding the jibe since it gave him the chance to hear her laugh.


	12. Chapter 12

"No way! I definitely won that one!"

"No, you're cheating!"

"How can anyone plausibly cheat at spitting?"

She shrugged, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hands, "I don't know, but you are!"

"You're just dumb, that isn't my fault! Look," he pointed at a patch in the grass, "your seed landed all the way over there. Even if you'd managed to stay on the field, you'd have been short by a yard at least!"

She squinted her eyes, trying to see. It crinkled her cheeks adorably.

"I don't know, I think you're full of shit."

"What, do you need glasses or something?"

"Actually yeah, but that's beside the point," she kept squinting off at the distance.

"Wait, serious?"

"Yeah," she turned and looked at him.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I'm not blind, idiot."

"Answer the question."

"Three, you jerk. I can see, just not particularly well."

"So why the hell don't you go get some glasses?"

She shrugged, "Don't want to."

"That's what you get for always reading. I told you, no good can come of it."

She smirked, covering her eyes against the sun again, "Actually, I think it's just permanent damage from looking at your face."

He nodded solemnly, "They say to look on the face of a god leaves you blind."

"You-" she shook her head, irritated but amused, "are really good at twisting words."

"But seriously. If you need glasses, why not just get them?"

She shrugged again, "I don't know. Don't you think they'd look weird?"

He clicked his tongue, sitting down and reclining on the grass, "You're such a girl."

"Thanks for noticing," she sat beside him, her ankles crossed, knees close to her chest. The hem of her shorts rode high on her leg. He looked away.

"No, I mean, who cares? If you can't see, what's the point?"

"You don't think it'd look weird?"

"As the newly appointed person within this friendship who can actually fucking see, I swear to you, your face will not take any losses it cannot sustain." He shifted uncomfortably, watching the horizon, "It might even actually make you look somewhat cute."

She smiled, leaning over until her shoulder shoved his lightly, "You're such a charmer."

"Yeah, well. You don't make it easy."


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh come on, it'll be fun!"

"Nope, not gonna do it."

"I swear, once you stop being so weird, you'll like them!" He cocked an eyebrow, vaguely offended. She clicked her tongue, "I didn't mean it like that!"

"What other way is there?"

"You're just- you're a lot, okay? Once you manage to calm down, you guys will get on fine."

"Not interested." He looked back down at the book he had been staring at.

She came up behind him, throwing her arms over his shoulders, holding him tightly, "Please? For me? It'll be no fun if you're not there!"

"How you managed to survive before me is a mystery," he muttered, trying to squelch the feeling bubbling inside him.

"I'm not going to stop annoying you until you agree."

"Then we'll just both have to miss it."

She swung around, dramatically flinging herself across him, "I haven't been to a party in ages! If we don't go, I will literally DIE!"

"Tragic."

"I'm serious!"

"Then go!" He lifted the book above her. She snatched it from his hands, shutting it, looking up at him as if she really was on the threshold of death. He sighed, defeated. "Alright, fine. But I'm not making any promises to be nice. I don't like them and they don't like me."

"You overestimate your pull," she sat up, rejuvenated by her win, "they hardly think of you at all."

"Well that's reassuring," he muttered.

"Shoot, I need to do my hair." She walked over to the closet, pulling it open, shifting through the clothes quickly.

"What do you need to get nice for? Aren't you already friends with them?"

She rolled her eyes, "You wouldn't get it."

"Evidently not."

"Here, hold this," she threw a black pool of fabric to him. He caught it, the material soft in his hands. He tried not to think about how it would feel on her. She disappeared behind the closet door, a quiet symphony of all the things girls do to get ready, "Are you wearing that?"

He walked over to the bed and reclined, staring out the window, "Unless you plan on having me go naked, yes."

She poked her head out, "It's not that kind of party, but I'm not going to stop you." She disappeared again behind the door. It was already dark outside.

He frowned, "How late is this going to go?"

"Why, do you have a curfew?"

"No, just wondering."

"There's only a few of us, so pretty late, most likely."

"Define 'a few.'"

"Ten or so?" There was a popping sound as she opened something.

"Great," he muttered.

"You'll have fun, you'll see."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure of it. Worst comes to worst, you get free alcohol then you leave."

He rolled over onto his side, staring at the opened door. He wondered what all went down in the sacred secretive process of "girls getting ready." It seemed almost ritualistic, but he would feel stupid asking.

"Here," she poked an arm out, "give that back now."

He walked over, gently placing the fabric in her hand. She pulled her arm back, and then there was the sound of fabric shifting, being pulled against skin. A shiver sprinted across his back, leaving his lungs feeling strangely empty of air.

"Alright, thanks a bunch," she stepped out, trying to push her hair back into a clip. He looked away, pretending he didn't care about the way the fabric fit over her skin. He had never been jealous of clothing before.


	14. Chapter 14

They were all idiots, just as he had known they would be. They tolerated him the same way they might tolerate a tag-along sibling, and he hated that. Two of her friends whispered together, laughing. No doubt they were talking about him. He took a sip of his drink, drawing up his nose at the taste of it. She took the cup from his hands, sniffing it before tasting. Shaking her head, she handed it back, "Ugh, yeah, that's disgusting. Try this."

"What is it?" He peered down into the cup she offered him.

"Whiskey. Shitty whiskey, but still better than whatever that is." She put the other cup down. He took a sip. It burned unpleasantly, but he was too enamored at the fact that they were sharing a cup to care. He fought against a cough. "Good, right?" she smiled. He gave her the "okay" sign, not trusting that his voice wouldn't betray him. She leaned over to the boy beside her, saying something lost under the volume of the music. He stared straight ahead, equally apathetic and uncomfortable.

Her pretty friend glanced at him over her shoulder, very obviously trying to hide her own discomfort. She didn't want him here. "Screw her," he thought, taking another sip from his cup to bolster himself. She probably thought he was a bad influence or something. Little did she know.

"Why are you staring at Bea?" He was startled to have her very suddenly leaning against him, smelling very much of whiskey.

"Excuse me?"

"You keep staring at her."

"I'm not staring."

"So you admit that you're watching her?"

He rolled his eyes, "Whatever, you're weird and your friends are weird."

"You have to relax, dude. Are you even capable of that?"

"It's hard to relax in a room full of people who hate you."

"Oh my god, they don't hate you! And even if they did, you're not giving them any reason not to!"

"Yeah, okay." He took another sip from his cup. She made a noise of exasperation then moved to talk to one of her other friends. She had lied. There were far more than ten people here, closer to twenty. Or perhaps it only felt that way because the room was so small. He didn't like it, but even more so, he didn't like the feeling of having her be mad at him.

He looked up again in time to catch her pretty friend's eye. She looked away quickly, but not quick enough. If she wanted him to be social, then damn it, he would. Standing was a bit harder than he had anticipated, but he made his way over to her. He could see her stiffen at his approach, visibly nervous.

"Hey," he gestured to her, "I know you."

"I'm sure you do." Her tone was crisp but not impolite.

"I've seen you in detention, right?"

She smiled guiltily, "Don't tell my parents."

"Wouldn't dream of it. So, uh," he looked around, floundering, "good party? Is this a good party? I… genuinely can't tell."

"As far as they go, it's alright." She relaxed a bit, comforted by his discomfort. He looked around in a way he hoped was nonchalant.

"Cool, cool." He tapped his cup awkwardly. "So do you know everyone here, or?"

"I know some of them. Do you know anyone, or-"

"Only one, well, now two," he gestured towards her again. She laughed amicably, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You're in Kit's brother's class, right? Matter of fact, you're the one who got in trouble for fighting with him, yeah?"

He looked away, feeling uncomfortable, "Uh, yeah, I guess-"

"That must make for a weird friendship." She took a drink from her glass.

"I wouldn't call us friends-"

"I meant with Kit."

"Oh, yeah," he glanced over at her, watching her, all black fabric and the scent of hair products as she talked to some guy he didn't know. "She's cool."

"Yeah," her friend glanced over his shoulder, watching her as well, "she is." Her tone seemed almost sad. When he looked back she was smiling again, "Well, it was nice to finally meet the menace."

"Is that what you call me?"

"It's a fitting enough name, don't you think?" She smiled again, before turning quickly, walking away. The conversation left him feeling strange, uneasy.


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh my god," she gripped his arm tightly as she closed the door to her room, "how did I not see this before?"

"What?" He turned to look at her. He had walked her home, but she was obviously not ready to let him go quite yet.

Her face was gravely serious, "You like Bea."

"No I don't!" As he said it, he heard the condemnation in his emphatic protest.

"Yes you do! That's why you hate my brother so much, oh my god, you're jealous!"

He shook his head quickly, "I SWEAR, I don't!"

She waved his words off, "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell her. Unless you want me to-"

"There's nothing TO tell!"

"It's pretty obvious that you do." Her tone was serious, almost injured.

He held his hands up, "What can I possibly do to prove to you that I don't?"

She narrowed her eyes, "You're lying."

"Why would I lie about this? Furthermore, why would I like her?"

"Are you saying my friend isn't GOOD ENOUGH for you to like?"

"I'm saying this is so third grade and I REALLY don't care!"

"Alright, fine." She looked away from him. "But this is far from over."

"I believe you."

She was remarkably well-balanced for the amount she had had to drink, but as she turned away, she still needed to use the wall as support.

"Why do you care so much anyway?"

"I don't care," she hardly sounded convincing.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay then."

His disappointment was a weight in his chest. She sighed, untangling the clips from her hair.

"Well, thanks for walking me back anyway. Although," she turned to him, holding a finger out, "I could have easily kicked any mugger's ass."

"I'm sure you could; this was for my own protection."

She smiled, turning away again, taking out her earrings, "Swear you don't like her?"

"Yes, I swear!" He crossed his heart.

"Alright. I believe you. Sorry if things are weird."

"You didn't- I mean- It's fine. Things aren't weird."

"Are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

She smiled a genuinely happy smile that tumbled within him.

Her hair was a mess, sticking out where it had been loosed from its clips. Her makeup was smudged, and there was the edge of a slur around her words. She looked tired, worn, but the longer he looked at her, the more he realized her radiance.

She caught him staring and smiled, "What? I can't possibly look that bad. Or do I just look that good?"

"You always look good."

"You're a fucking charmer." She walked towards her bed languidly. He followed her, almost automatically. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm. I'm fine."

"I'm not ready for sleep yet, stay and hang out." She fell onto the sheets heavily, pulling him along with her by his hands. Her skin was warm with the effects of the alcohol, and he wasn't quite sure what was making him flush more.

She rearranged herself so that she was upside down, her back flat against the bed, her legs straight up. "Don't look so serious," she nudged his face with her good, "you look like someone died."

He pushed her leg away with a smile, letting her lean them against the wall beside his head, "Have you ever known me not to?"

"But I was right, yes? You have to admit that it was fun."

"It wasn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me."

"What's that?"

"You, probably."

"That's fair." She sat back up, almost kicking him in her unsteady attempt. Her feet came down on either side of his waist, arranging them in a comfortable sort of tangle. The warm pressure of her legs against him was perfect. He tried not to think about how easy it would be to pull her closer.

"You're almost certainly going to be the death of me."

"Would you have it any other way?"

The dim light outside the window cast a warm pallor over her face, softening her smile into a golden portrait of loveliness.

"I really wouldn't."

She looked outside, an unnamed sadness in her eyes. It didn't seem like she wanted him to ask, so he didn't. Instead, he softly reached over, touching her hand. She glanced over at him, smiling warmly. Gently, she linked her fingers between his, the soft kindness of her touch almost palpable. Neither of them said anything. He almost wished she would. They had been quiet for too long now, but he couldn't bring himself to look away, couldn't give over the moment. He would drown in this adoration if he let himself.

He swallowed stiffly, reluctantly pulling his hand away.

"I need to tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"I don't like Bea."

"So you've said."

"I like you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I- I really like you."

"Oh. Cool. I like you too."

He leaned against the wall, needing the support, "No, listen- I don't think you get what I'm saying-"

"No, I got it. It's cool, I like you too." His stomach dropped.

"You… like me?"

"Yeah, I was surprised to find out as well," she looked away, studying the horizon out the window. His heart jumped to his throat in an obvious attempt to kill him.

"You… are you sure?"

"Fairly sure."

"Only fairly?"

"Well it's hard to tell. You haven't kissed me yet." There was a smile in her voice.

"Look, I know we joke around a lot, but-"

"I'm serious. Why, are you joking?" She looked over at him, her eyebrow cocked.

He shook his head reverently, "I would never joke about that."

"Then… can you kiss me?"

He was suddenly very aware of every part of his body. He lifted his hand slowly, hoping it wasn't too sweaty, bringing it as gently as he could manage to her face. He paused with his lips just above hers, giving her the chance to say "gotcha!" before it was too late, but she didn't move. He felt her breath hitch.

And then he was kissing her, and he didn't really know what he was doing, but she was soft and his chest exploded like a crate of fireworks. Should his hand be on her hips? He didn't know. She lifted her arms, holding his face to hers. She was so soft, so warm, so real. It was better than he had ever imagined.

He realized with a sudden elated terror that she was pulling him back, laying down on the bed again. Was this happening too fast? Should he do something? Was he actually going to get to do this? He followed her, moving his arm to her side so that he could balance.

She broke the kiss, pushing him back just far enough to meet her eyes, "Stay above my waist, I'm not a first-date kind of girl."

He swallowed his thrumming heart, "This is a date?" But then she was kissing him again, and he could almost swear he could hear a chorus of angels. "This is it," he thought, "I've peaked."

Gently, he laid his hand on her side, careful to place it above her hips. She sighed contentedly, and he had to agree. It was truly amazing how warm she was. Softly, curiously, he moved his hand up. He could feel her flex beneath her clothing. She didn't try to push him away-in fact, she seemed enthusiastic about the whole deal. It was at that moment that he remembered that she had only clarified that he needed to stay above her waist. He did his very best to steady his screaming insides, to no avail. Testing the waters, he ran his hand up a few more inches, until his fingertips brushed her breast.

"Well you didn't waste any time," she chided him, but she betrayed herself by leaning into his touch. Filled with awe and wonder, he moved his hand up until it covered her breast, perfect and soft and very much under his hand. He tightened his grip experimentally, pressing down against her, and she made a noise that rattled his bones.

He moved his free hand to her jaw, tilting her head up just enough to allow him to run his tongue along her teeth exploratorily.

She hummed another note of contentment, "This isn't your first time, is it?"

He scoffed, "I've told you, I'm a highly desirable man."

"Okay, less talking." He was going to point out that she was the one who started the talking, but then she parted her lips, and he was able to slip his tongue between her teeth.

Her arms encircled his neck, holding herself to him, and nothing else mattered. She was everything; she was the only thing. He wanted nothing more than to worship the curve of her lips, those terribly, terribly beautiful lips.

He pulled back softly, having staved off the need to breath for as long as he could. Looking down at her, he tried to memorize every eyelash, every freckle, burning the memory so deep in his brain that were he to be vivisected, they would find her image engraved within him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair deliciously messy. She stared back, her eyes endless darkness, so perfectly consuming him he didn't even attempt to put up a fight. She smiled, a tired breathless smile, and it was done. He was hers-completely, utterly, and unfathomably.

"Hi," he smiled awkwardly.

"Hello," she laughed, gently, quietly, an amused laugh that made every inch of him sing. Somewhere in the distance a clock rang.

"So…" he fought for words, "what happens now?"

"For starters, you could kiss me again."

"And after that?"

"Maybe I could kiss you."

"Not a bad idea, but look- I'm serious. I like you, and you know how I feel about sharing. So, what happens?"

She paused contemplatively, her eyes dancing across his face. Eventually, slowly, she raised herself to a sitting position.

"Come here," she placed her hand on his jaw, drawing him close to herself again. Softly, she kissed his neck. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the scent of her. His hold about her tightened reflexively, and she reciprocated, moving herself closer to his chest. Her teeth pinched the tender skin, and he had to fight very very hard not to audibly moan, but it was a battle he was losing quickly. Right when he didn't think he could take it any longer, she pulled back, a mischievous smile on her face. She ran her fingers over the tender spot carefully.

"There. Now I won't have to worry about sharing either."

"You did not just tag me," his voice was laced with ill-hid amusement.

She shrugged, lacing her hands behind his neck, "Is it so wrong to want what's rightfully mine?"

He smiled hungrily, rolling her back down, feeling the vibrations of her laughter turn to heavy sighs as he began to kiss along her throat, blissful and buzzing.

..

...

..

AN-

We're almost there, kids. Almost done.

Cheers


	16. Chapter 16

He made sure that his second wedding was a grander affair than the first. "How the world comes around," he had thought, watching the tears in the young girl's eyes. It wasn't her fault, but that did nothing to stop his anger. The least he deserved was his anger.

"An ingenious plot," they had lauded him, "A rich orphan, not yet 18, ripe for the plundering. How had he ever thought of it?" They had marveled at his creativity, and he'd done his best impression of an unperturbed man.

It wasn't her fault, no. But her dear parents, so dead and noble, had damned her on that front. At least he didn't lie, he thought, at least he didn't pretend to love her.

He still wondered if all of it had been pretend. It certainly hadn't tasted so. It couldn't have all been misery, no. People warn you not to marry young, but when you're too young to marry, you're also too young to care. And when you're too young to care, you're also too young to manage your own financial accounts. It was painfully clever, he had to give them that. Clever enough to work the second time around, evidently.

Did it make him stupid to not want to believe it had been her plan? He wanted to think that greedy fingers had just seized upon opportunity, but she was just clever enough that he couldn't be sure.

He watched as the girl's lithe fingers tightened around the bouquet that had been thrust into her hands. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to see the pain and fear he was owed, even if it was a generation too late. She looked so much like her mother, too pale and beautiful to be of any use. Of course, he was only gaining half of what he used to have, but there was time enough for that. There would be plenty of time.

He didn't take well to being split like an unloved Solomon's baby. Sure, there was enough to share, but it felt unnecessary at the very least. He should have trusted his gut, should have stayed away, but it was too late for all of that now.

She had even had the gall to begrudge him his misery, his solitude, his mourning; perhaps that was the worst of it. She had necessitated the mourning, true, but she had begrudged him it as well. "Did he miss them?" she had asked once upon a time, all innocence, as if she was disparate, untouched by the blood spilling around him. He had never been able to understand how she had been able to speak to him with such nonchalance, knowing what she had done, but he had come to revere it.

So what better place for it all to close than a theater? He was a poet after all, he mused, or at least had sense of irony enough to become one. He still loved the theater despite it all, still loved fire and sorrow and the wonderful way the world could wince under his touch.

His young bride shrank away as he grabbed her hand. She was younger than he had been, softer too, still unused to life's capacity for cruelty. He was saving her in other ways, though. She would only have to mourn, wouldn't have to learn to love before she learned to hate. She would take to hating easily enough, he could tell. He would be all the horror she needed; he would take everything, would watch it burn. She came from a legacy of destruction; it was her heritage.

She was pretty with her doll-like tears caught in her eyelashes. He wasn't planning to hurt her, but she didn't know that, of course. He has no reason to hurt her; he already had everything he needed from her, anything else would be superfluous. She did look so much like her mother though.

Her hand was so small, her fingers trembling as he slipped the ring on, reclaiming what was his. And yet, when he met her eyes, there was no weakness, none of the fear that betrayed itself in her shaking hands. She hated him already, he noted, pleased. Smart girl. She would learn quickly. She may even be a bit of fun in the end; fury was endlessly entertaining. She didn't let the tears spill over onto her cheeks, reddened with emotion. Good. He hated crying, hated the awkward weakness of it.

And then he was taking her arm, her small frame lost beneath the bundle of fabric, making her a hideous flower, a chrysanthemum of cheap lace.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he stepped forward to address the audience, "I have an announcement. There is no reason to continue tonight's performance…"


End file.
